On Death's Doorstep
by OkieDokieLoki
Summary: When Tony Stark, aka Iron Man is nearly killed in battle, he finds himself in Helhiem - another realm full of dead souls. And their teenage queen with missing parents. And Hela has no idea what to do with the strange man in her garden who isn't dead. This is a story of two lost souls. Because Tony as a father figure is adorable, this is full of humor and, of course, tons of feels.


**Okay, so I wrote this a few months ago. It was cute and deep and containing just a tiny bit of dark humor and I was super proud of it. So, I sent it to my real-life friend who this site knows as mufinz-r-just-ugly-cupcakez and waited for her response. Well, now this morning I remembered it and turns out she sent it, but I never got it. So I now have this story. And I am publishing it as a gift, because where I live it is summer and I am super excited. Just a note: Magic, Kidnapping and Redemption is my focus story this summer. I plan to finish it before the summer is out. And I have this other story, and I will drop hints on it over time. Anyways, go read Mystical, Winter, and Rainbow by my amazing unofficial beta and muse. I don't own the Avengers, Godzilla, Twinkies or anything else you recognize. **

The city was in peril, people were running around screaming for their lives. Once again, Tony Stark mentally debated why it was people screamed when their lives were in immediate jeopardy instead of (gasp) doing something productive about it. Did screaming stop the giant mechanical bull from destroying the city? No. Did screaming stop buildings from toppling over like dominos? No. Did screaming annoy the heroes trying to protect them? Yes. It most certainly did.

"Tony!" he heard someone shout. He could hear the sharp tone and knew it was Captain America. He was probably going to give him one of those lectures about following the plan. Like he was ever going to do something as ridiculous as that.

"Man of Iron!" came another shout. That was Thor. Tony was ignoring him. Everybody knew that setting the magical hammer only Thor could lift on Pepper's china collection had been a bad idea. And if not then, everybody knew that TV pictures weren't real. Except apparently the god of thunder. Godzilla wasn't that scary anyways. So, there was no reason to destroy his new flat screen TV. Not a single one.

"Stark! Look out!" came a third person. That was Natasha Romanoff, who he decided not to ignore. Partly because she was not to be messed with on a regular day. Partly because she was highly weapon-ized at the moment. He turned around and finally noticed what everyone else was seeing. A missile smacked him in the gut, its point digging into the blue of the arc reactor, shoving him back. He felt glass shatter behind him and the last thing he saw was the advertisement sign falling past the window. It was for Burger King: Have it your way. Yep, he thought, fine world – have it your way.

….

Hela heard a crash from the ballroom and instantly blamed the dog. It was one of those sunny afternoons on Helheim where you could almost forget there wasn't a sun. The lack of wind fell through the open window into the queen's quarters. It might have been nice. If you liked black. And big empty rooms. And uncomfortable beds that were styled to be four feet wide and twenty feet long. And if you had a thing for skulls. Which she did, but not everywhere.

"Lady Hela," an urgent voice came from outside her room. Hela brushed a lock of her raven black hair from her eyes before sighing.

"Yes Genghis?" she called.

"I prefer Lord Kahn," he said officially.

"And I prefer 'her high exalted majesty, the queen of everything' but we don't always get what we want, do we?" she called out, adjusting her skirts.

"Yes Lady Hela," he said. She popped her head out of the door to see a gaggle of guards outside her door. She sighed again. They always got so worked up over nothing. Once again, it was probably just the dog.

"Washington, Attila, and Alexander," she said walking out, "I am sure it was nothing,"

"Yes, your majesty," said Attila, bowing. She smiled. She knew she kept him around for a reason.

"I'll go check it out, alright?" she asked, before leaving quickly before they could respond. Of course, they would all say it wasn't all right. But she got some benefits from being queen of the dead. Some, mind you. Not many.

She reached the stairs and glanced around. Nope, no undead guards around, nor any overprotective councils. Sliding off her high heels she perched herself on the banister and slid down. As she did, she focused hard on her shape changing magic, one of the few tricks her father taught her before leaving forever. When she reached the foot of the stairs, she had traded out her cape and gown for a simple black pleated skirt and a black collared top. Black tights circled her legs with (shocker) black flats.

Her dog, Necromancer raced up to her legs, a bone in his skeletal jaws. For reasons unknown, the dead always looked different, and Necromancer was basically a set of dog bones permanently and magically pulled together in the shape of a dog. She looked at the bone and crossed her arms.

"Necromancer! Did you steal someone's femur? Not good," she shook her head, and grabbed his the bone, pulling it from his jaws. The bloodied surface smeared over her pale fingers and she sent a quick look of distaste in the direction of her overexcited undead puppy.

Marching into the courtyard she only saw a few people, lucky for her. It would be impossible to find out from whom the bone came from if it were crowded. A man walked up to her and she noted the blood on his hands. Cocking her head she stopped walking.

"It wasn't me!" he said, "I didn't do it!"

Now, what exactly it was he was telling her he didn't do, Hela didn't know, but it was a little strange that he picked out the queen of Helheim when most people expected her to be – well frankly, older. Not that it mattered much, since he was lying. That was another trick of her dad's Hela knew. She could always tell when someone was lying to her. And this was, in Midgardian terms, a whopper.

"I don't believe you," she said then turned off. She noticed a set of Egyptians and glanced away. She had kind of been putting off their judgment for a few millennia now. But she noticed one was staggering.

"Hey!" she called, "Anyone missing a Femur?"

A few people checked their respective bodies, before a skeletal man raised his hand.

"Sorry about that," she said and handed it to him, which he promptly inserted in his leg. She forced a smile, mentally screaming that that move was both creepy and awesome at the same time. Then she noticed it. A form was lying on the ground in the front of the courtyard. And it was alive.

Now, any self respecting queen of the dead could tell the difference between a live person and a dead one. The dead were, different. It was hard to explain, but she could tell. She walked over to it, getting down on her knees in a very unladylike fashion to do so, and glanced at its face.

Its eyes were closed shut, but there was still a color in its cheeks. She glanced over the body, yep. It was definitely alive. But barely. In a state almost like a coma. Not dead, but close. She cocked her head once more and stood up. Then she used her entirely scientific process to find out if this – person – was going to wake up. She kicked him in the ribs.

….

Tony only felt blackness around him. Was he dead? Or just, sleeping? His mind drifted. Pepper was going to kill him for this, unless he was already dead. Maybe he should figure that out first. His whole body ached. Suddenly he felt a sharp joint in his ribcage and instincts took over. After all, he was in the middle of a battle with a highly weapon-ized mechanical bull and two or three things that looked like Robocop.

He grabbed the thing's foot and gave it a sharp tug, his eyes flying open. He glanced to his right and realized that the aforementioned thing was actually some girl. She had shoulder length raven black hair, and extremely green eyes. And she was in all black. Someone's funeral? Nah, that was stupid. She was eyeing him, curiously.

"Hello, are you dead?" she asked. Well. That was one way to start a conversation.

"I don't know, maybe," he shrugged. "Who on Earth are you?"

"We're not on Earth, we're on Helheim. And I am her high exalted majesty, Queen Hela," she said, standing and brushing off her skirts. "Who are you?"

"Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Plus I am Iron Man," he glanced around, a tad bit confused. "So – you're Asgardian right?"

"No, well. I was. Part way. It's actually rather complicated. We should probably get inside," she said, glancing around nervously.

"How come?"

"The dead don't enjoy the living very much, they might try to kill you."

"Well, that sounds like reason enough," he shrugged. She led him inside, some skeletal lab darting around her heels. He shook his head; all this was just a little too weird for him. Dead people? Helheim? And this girl looked so much like someone, but he couldn't place who exactly.

"You ever been to Earth?" he called to her.

"Not recently. Once when I was little, but you wouldn't have been born yet," she said.

"I wouldn't have been born yet? You're what, thirteen?" he asked.

"Fifteen, but on Midgard I would be seven hundred eighty two."

He whistled under his breath. But continued to follow her, noticing the fact that several souls seemed to gravitate to her, begging for forgiveness for random things. She shook them all off like she did this every day.

They reached a set of large black doors and the girl, Hela knocked twice. A man that looked suspiciously like George Washington opened the door.

"General Washington, this is my personal guest Son of Stark – Lord Philanthropist, genius, billionaire -" she paused, as if trying to remember.

"Playboy, but please. It's just Tony."

"Yes, this is my guest, Tony," she said.

"Yes, Queen Hela."

She turned to him, and he shrugged.

"Do I have to continuously call you Her High Exalted Majesty Queen Hela? Or maybe an acronym HHEMQH? That still a mouthful," he began.

"I believe the Midgardian adaptation of my name is Helen," she said.

"Right. 'Cause on Earth 'Hela' means 'extremely'."

"This is a lesson to be learned. Get banished and your name becomes an adjective," she shook her head.

He paused, confused. "Wait –you were banished?"

She nodded sadly and glanced away.

"Yes. When I was little. Supposedly I jeopardized the kingdom in some way. So, the All father sent me away," she said, sounding more than a little bitter.

"Didn't your parents try to do something about it?" Tony asked, feeling a tad guilty for pressing this subject, but all too curious for his own good.

"My father, he gave me this pendant, to call him if I ever need help. And he fought and argued. My mother was dead," she said.

"Oh. Sorry," he said. Man, he sucked at this type of conversation. All about feelings. He decided to shake it off and start a new conversation. "So, do you get discontinued brands in the realm of the dead? Because I would love a Twinkie."

Helen shot him a disapproving, yet confused look before pulling one of the doors open. She turned to her dog and shook her head.

"No Necromancer, you were a bad dog. Now go think about what you did," she said in that mock stern voice people use with animals and small children. Tony allowed himself a small smirk.

"You named the dog Necromancer?"

"Yes," she said, a tad bit perplexed.

"Let me guess, the cat is Cerberus?"

"Hades actually," she said, and then giggled as if she finally got the joke.

"Her high exalted majesty the queen of everything?" a guard called.

"Yes Lord Kahn?" she said, smirking in a way that might count as teasing.

"Lord Philanthropist's room is ready."

"Really Genghis, it's just Tony," Tony said leaning against the wall like talking to dead people was something he did on a daily basis. The guard shifted his scepter and gave him a once over.

"He hates being called Genghis," Helen explained before brushing past him.

One of the guards tapped her on the shoulder. Hela spun around and gave herself a look, then blushed.

"Thanks Alexander," she said and drew up straight. Focusing on the small amount of energy she could muster without causing an overload, she used magic to transfer her clothes back into her breath-restraining bodice and run-prohibiting skirts. Tony looked like he had seen a ghost (which he had, of course. But that was beside the point).

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, shrugging it off, "You just reminded me of someone, but I can't place who. Nice getup," he noted on her outfit. Helen glanced around at her outfit, shyly.

"Does it look bad?"

Crap. Teenage girl. Insecurities, yeesh. Tony shook his head.

"Nope, just – wow. I personally prefer the gothic schoolgirl myself, but that's cool."

"It looks cold?" her brow furrowed.

"No, On Earth, er, Midgard cool means nice. Or attractive. Like hot – except cool."

That only caused her to look more confused. But she shrugged.

"Are you hungry?"

"I dunno, a little," then he brightened, "Have you ever heard of shawrma?"

….

The next morning, Hela glanced at her alarm clock, hating it passionately. Tossing one of her pillows at it, she knocked the device clean off the headboard. Hearing a crash she winced, but decided not to inspect the broken machine. She sat up and stared out the window. It probably was morning, but with her clock broken she couldn't tell. Standing up she stepped into her shoes and changed into something queenlier then her pajamas.

"Hello morning," she muttered to the empty room, before heading down the stairs. The dining hall was big and empty, for the most part. A long black table filled half the room and her throne was on one side, the other spots lined with at least fifty other chairs. Like she ever had guests. She placed one hand on the armrest of her throne, glanced around the empty room, then vaulted over it. Dangling her bare feet off the other armrest she tucked her head into the back and yawned. Going back to sleep was part of her routine.

In one of two hours Attila would come downstairs and awaken her before any of the servants or peasants could see her in this state. She would be force fed some breakfast that blurred her mind before going to another day of checking people off to the correct subdivisions of Helheim. About three in the afternoon she would take Necromancer for a walk and end up getting lost and having to call on one of the workers to tell her where to go. Then she would not follow their directions and end up sitting on a stone bench, waiting for Hades to come back with Equinox (the horse) to show her home. Once home she would do more work, before addressing the city and collapsing into the bed, only to wake up the next morning. That was the way it had been the whole time she had lived here, since she was only five. And it would probably stay that way forever. Or at least until –

"Good morning Helen!"

She pulled her legs under the table and sat up straight as Tony Stark marched into the dining hall. She tried to look upright, and failed miserably.

"Is there such a thing?" she grumbled.

"Not a morning person?"

"How did you guess?" she said venomously.

"Wow. You are sassy when you're angry, Queen Hela Grumpy."

There was a pause as she lowered her head onto the table and let her shoulders keep her there.

"You know what you need? Coffee."

"What is coffee?"

"Loveliness," he turned to the door, "Hey we need some coffee in here!"

Several minutes later a chef came into the room carrying two cups of coffee. He set one in front of Hela, and handed one to Tony, who had come to rest right next to her.

Hela took a sip, than blinked. She then drank the entire thing in one sip; Tony figured it was an Asgardian thing. Helen burst into giggles and beamed.

"This drink – I like it! Can I have another!" she called to the chef. He nodded and raced out.

"So – where can I get clothes," Tony tried, noticing he was still in his suit and tie from the day before, the Iron Man suit was not here, but he wasn't sure where it was. She gave him directions and he left the room. A big mistake on his part.

_Ten Minutes Later_

"How much coffee did you have?" he gasped. The regal queen of Helheim was bouncing on the balls of her feet, almost as she couldn't stay still.

"Not that much, I don't believe," she shrugged.

"You don't believe?"

"How much does a normal person drink?" she asked carefully.

"I have four cups a day, maximum."

"Oh," her face fell, "Then I had a lot,"

"How much is a lot?"

"Thirteen cups?" she winced shyly.

The billionaire, genius, philanthropist, playboy paced the room, not entirely sure how to deal with the over-caffeinated Asgardian. He shook his head and sighed.

"Well, think about it this way. In a few hours all this energy you now have is going to go away. Major caffeine crash."

"Oh."

A guard raced in through the door, urgently gripping a clipboard. Helen steadied herself, trying to access all the energy she had to store it away. He gave Tony a sideways glance before turning to Hela.

"My queen, one of the shade carriages has been hijacked. I believe it is headed for the valley of plenty. We must make haste," he told her.

"Yes, I will be right on it Colonel Johnson," she nodded and hurried out of the room.

Unsure of what was going on, Tony Stark followed the little girl. Not his best idea. Especially after she got into a motorized vehicle with thirteen cups of coffee pumping through her veins. But he did anyways, and they were off. How she had come to own a motorcycle in an otherwise renaissance type realm was beyond him, but he was glad for it. Even if she drove like a madwoman.

"Oh my -! Tree! Branch! Um – group of dead people!" he called.

"I know, I know!" she shouted.

"Did you ever take drivers ed?"

"Drivers what?"

"Never mind. Did you ever take driving lessons?"

"You push the pedal to go, do you need anything else?"

"Um steering? Stopping? Not killing the person in the sidecar?"

"There's no substitute for experience," she laughed, nearly hitting a tree. Tony decided that maybe she reminded him of his teenage self. Just a little bit maniacal and crazy. But he wasn't sure that was it. When they stopped and slid out of the motorbike, she was still beaming.

"Next time, we wear helmets," Tony said. She smirked and conjured up one of those horned helmets in silver on her own head before causing it to disappear. He shook his head. That wasn't what he meant, and she knew it. She focused and her gown thing transformed into a set of black jeans with a black tank. Fishnet glove lets wormed up her arms and she had her hair in a high ponytail. He blinked. If she was going for dead – yes. Queenly? Not so much.

"What?" she asked.

"Would your parents want you walking around like that?" he asked, and then realized how parental that sounded. Yikes!

"No, probably not," she sighed and lost the gloves. She had pale arms and she was a cross between muscular and thin. He shook his head. If she was on Earth she could be a model. But, from his experience there weren't any ugly Asgardians.

She jogged off to the top of the hillside, where in the midst of the blackened tumbleweeds he could see an oasis. It was clear and beautiful, and very comfortable.

"That is the Field of Plenty, for the heroes," she said.

"Helen, do you remember anyone coming there? He would be about middle aged. Named Phil Coulson?" he asked. She pursued her lips.

"I do remember, but I feel it is his story to tell. If you are to hear it, well. You will," she said.

"That's deep, kid," he said.

"It sucks to be queen," she said suddenly.

"Why is that?"

"Well, everyone seems to want it so much – but it stinks. You have to work all day, no one thanks you. The most you get from gourmet foods in temporary pleasure and spent money. You have to be wise and sophisticated and basically it is like being in a prison, only everyone tells you you're lucky. Like a cage, but not built for me, I don't think."

"It isn't right," Tony said quietly, "What happened to you. Getting banished when you were little, having all of this thrust on you, but sometimes to world sucks that way. I had to grow up fast too, you know. My Dad was never around, but I never really grew up until I met Pepper."

"This – Pepper, is she your courting partner?" she asked, intrigued.

"Yeah," he blinked, "Oh my gosh – you're trying to gossip with me. Yeesh, you pretend to be superior but all you Asgardian are a bunch of hens."

"What is a hen?" she asked.

"Slang term, never mind."

"What is your life like, when you're alive?" she asked.

"Well, I do stuff. I mean, I am Iron Man. I fight bad guys. Save the world. Eat shwarma. The works," he shrugged. "I don't mean to pry, but how long have you gone without parents?"

"Most of my life. I was five when I was sent here. I don't remember much of my life before that. Only little things. My father teaching me magic. It was beautiful," she sighed, "And suddenly – it wasn't. My mother was taken away from us, and later she was executed. She wasn't in my father class, you see. He was noble born, and she a servant. I was allowed to stay. But when I was older, they discovered I have some gift. Apparently it would hurt people, so I was carted off as well," she glanced up, "And that it the pitiful life story of Queen Hela of Helheim. No parades, no flowers, no monuments with my name on them,"

"What about just Helen – when you're not being queen?"

She sighed and glanced around. Then leaned in forwards.

"I like magic, and cats, and reading. I play both sides of a chessboard to learn strategy. And I love to talk to people about all the unimportant things that they miss so much when their dead. Like weather, and not knowing what'll come next."

She straightened. "But that hardly matters anymore, I'm just somebody, who'll never be a someone."

They saw the rickety carriage rolling down the empty plains and Helen sat glanced over. She got that slightly devious grin and raced down the hill without another word. Tony followed her, but slower because Helen looked like she was going to run straight into things. Then he glanced ahead and couldn't see her at all.

"Halt!" shouted a voice, majestic but also frightening. He looked over. Helen was standing right in front of the moving carriage. But it wasn't her, not quite. Her raven hair was slicked back under a silver crown, and she had on one of those intimidating black gowns her eyes flashing green. In her hands was a scepter, a black ebony stick with silver ivy creeping up the sides. And the top was a skull, its eyes glowing with a blue power and looking almost as intimidating as its holder. Hela, for she couldn't be called the teenage Helen now, looked downright terrifying.

The carriage slid to a stop. Hela glared at the riders, who slowly walked out.

"Bow before your queen," her voice dripped with venom. "Do you know the upset of balance you might have caused? Shameful, and pathetic. Now face the consequences, or I will not hesitate to wipe you from this realm and into the black void."

No one was going to mess with her; she strode around to the back and turned to the driver.

"You've got this under control?"

"Y-yes sir, I mean ma'am, I mean my liege, or your majesty," the driver stuttered and walked back. Hela turned to Tony, and now he could swear she looked just like someone, but he couldn't place who. It was driving him crazy.

"Well, that was fun!" she beamed, her gown and crown and scepter disappearing back into her walking clothes, and Tony noticed that she left the two inch heels on, based on her slight stumble.

"You kind of scare me," he said looking her with a newfound respect.

"Yes, cower in fear of my excellance."

They walked back in silence and she groaned.

"What?"

"I think I hit what you called a caffeine crash," she said yawning.

"Do you want me to drive?"

"Yes, please do."

She slid into the side car and yawned, leaning over.

"You just relax now, kid," Tony told the little goddess, glancing over at her rapidly closing eyes.

"Okay Dad," she mumbled.

….

When Helen woke up, she was in her own bed, her alarm clock had been fixed, she noted. But it wasn't on. She was still in her clothes from the day before, but it didn't really matter. Hurrying downstairs she found the billionaire sitting in the sitting room, looking out the window.

"Hey," she said.

"Hello."

A guard bustled in, "Lord Philanthropist, do you require any more of these – nuts of dough?"

"Donuts, its donuts. Nah, I'm fine."

Helen sat down on the couch next to him. She stretched and leaned against the armrest.

"How long was I out?"

"The whole time, you kept murmuring in your sleep. Something about femurs," he paused, wanting an explanation.

"Oh, it's my dog. Necromancer, he likes to steal femurs. But not as much as collarbones. And Hades liked to bat ribs of small animals around. Sometimes under tables, then I have to bend over and get them."

"Oh," Tony did not know how to respond to that.

Helen glanced over and her eyes widened.

"What?"

"You keep fading in and out – like a mirage."

Suddenly the room was gone; he was in a hospital, then back in the palace. He blinked.

"You said I wasn't dead, right?" he asked.

"Yes, your mortal form must be waking up," she said quietly.

"That's good right?"

"For you," Helen whispered quieter still.

What? – Oh," he got it. He was leaving this kid alone again.

"Can I visit you?" he asked.

"No one can find Helheim with-"

"Tony?" that was Natasha.

"-Out one of these orbs. And it is difficult to find with them."

She held one out to him. He reached for it; he felt the cool stone in his palm, before it faded away with the image of the room.

"He's alive, call in Ms. Potts!" cried an excited worker.

Tony glanced around the room, he was in a hospital bed, one of those really uncomfortable ones. He tried sitting up, but he was strapped to the table. Pepper's idea probably, he swore that he had only tried to sit up once when his backbone was shattered, but she always insisted he be kept down.

The Avengers were in the room, and Pepper pushed through them.

"Tony! You're okay!" she leaned in to hug him.

"What happened?"

"You were in a coma for two days – what do you remember?" said a worried Bruce.

"I was hit with a missile, and then I was in this kingdom. There was nothing alive there, but we couldn't stay outside because the dead hate the living. And then I gave the queen coffee and she drank too much –and then-" he paused.

"Was this a dream you had?" asked Hawkeye.

"It felt real."

"Aye, you were on Helheim," Thor gave him a knowing look.

"Okay. So there was this girl-" Pepper gave him a sharp look, "Not that type of girl, like a kid. But she was the queen,"

"Yes, that would be Hela, my niece," Thor nodded.

"You mean she's-"

"Loki's daughter."

He glanced up around the room and exhaled. Somewhere out there, some kid might worry he'd hate her for her parent's transactions. And he wanted to tell her it was okay. Because he wasn't going to judge anyone for their past, and definitely not their parents.

….

Hela glanced at the empty seat next to her, and couldn't help swallowing all the loneliness left inside her. She stood up and left, beckoning for the dog and the cat to follow her. She didn't see the two second appearance of Tony Stark, or that he grabbed the orb from the couch cushion.

**If you review, I'll love you forever. But not in a creepy way. You know what I meant.**


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